I Feel Like a Living Alexa

I swear if someone says my name one more time, I’m going to respond with “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Because lately, I’m not a mom.
I’m not a wife.
I’m not even a person.

I’m a fully activated, voice-controlled household device with zero off switch.

“Mom.”
“Mommmm.”
“MOM.”
“Mom—he touched my stuff.”
“Mom—where’s my water?”
“Mom—can you find my shoe?” (There are two shoes. He is holding neither.)

I don’t even get full sentences anymore. Just commands. Like I’m powered by Wi-Fi and emotional labor.

“Mom, snack.”
“Mom, remote.”
“Mom, can you tell him to stop breathing near me?”

Sometimes they don’t even look at me. They just shout into the void, confident I will appear—because historically, I always do.

I’ve answered questions Google could’ve handled.
I’ve located items directly in front of their faces.
I’ve repeated myself so many times my own echo is tired.

And don’t get me started on the night shift.

My husband works overnight saving lives (actual hero behavior), which means during the day, I am the sole operating system. No backup battery. No tech support. Just me and three boys running on chaos and crumbs.

At this point, I should come with preset responses:

• “Ask your brother.”
• “No, you can’t have a snack—you just had a snack.”
• “Yes, it’s still no.”
• “If I find it, I’m keeping it.”

And yet… even while feeling like a walking smart speaker with mom jeans, I know this phase won’t last forever. One day the house will be quiet. Too quiet. No one will need me to narrate their entire existence.

So for now, I’ll keep responding.
I’ll keep showing up.
Even when I’m tired.
Even when my name sounds like a wake word.

Because underneath the jokes and the noise, there’s something kind of powerful about being needed this much—even if it comes with sticky fingers and endless questions.

💛 A quiet hooray to the moms running the household operating system.